


It Started As a Silly Little Thing

by teatearsandbbc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Prequel, apieformydean, operating room, request, slight angst, surgeon!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teatearsandbbc/pseuds/teatearsandbbc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for AO3 user apieformydean, this is a prequel to There Was Nothing You Could Do.  John doesn't ask much.  Only for breakfast before a complicated surgery.  But even that seems impossible with Sherlock around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Started As a Silly Little Thing

It started as a silly little thing, really.

Sherlock had left another bag of fingers in the refrigerator and they had leaked.  All over the eggs.  And so John had no breakfast and a 12 hour surgery to look forward to.  He stormed into the living room where Sherlock sat tuning his violin.

“Fingers, Sherlock.  You had to go and store fingers in our fridge.  Why don’t you get your own bloody refrigerator and keep all your ‘experiments’ in there?” John demanded, fingers unballing from fists to slice quotation marks into the air.

“Unnecessary,” came the reply.  Sherlock didn’t even so much as look up from his violin.

“Unnecessary,” John muttered under his breath.  “Unnecessa-how can you be so completely inconsiderate of actual human needs?” he asked, his volume rising dangerously close to shouting.  Sherlock did look up then, seeming bemused by his boyfriend’s outrage.

“It would take up unneeded space in the flat.  There’s plenty of room in the one refrigerator for all my needs and I thought you would approve of saving the extra money,” he explained as though a logical explanation of his motivations would soothe John.

“And what am I supposed to do about breakfast?”  John was shouting now.  Sherlock frowned, seeming to grasp the problem.

“Ah.”  He considered for a moment, then rose to his feet.  He strode over to John and took the smaller man’s face in his hands.  Completely ignoring the violent shade of red the doctor was turning, he leaned down and attempted to kiss him.  John laid one hand over Sherlock’s, then before the detective could figure out what had happened, he had him pinned against the doorframe with one long arm twisted up his back.

“No, Sherlock, you can’t just kiss me or suck me off and magically make these problems go away,” he snapped.  “I still won’t have any breakfast.  And looks like it’s going to stay that way because I’ve got to go.”  John released Sherlock and grabbed his coat.

“Don’t be petulant, John,” Sherlock said, sounding remarkably unconcerned for a man who had just been shoved against a wall.

“Shut up,” John replied, storming out of the flat.  As if to accentuate his point, his stomach rumbled as he stomped down the stairs.  He was on the Tube when his phone buzzed.

_I’m sorry.  SH_

John shoved his phone back in his pocket.  Of all the mornings to go without breakfast.  He had a very tricky surgery scheduled for that day that would take twelve hours minimum.  High risk, but potentially life-saving.  He needed to be at his best and he couldn’t do that hungry.  He’d have to grab a cold bagel from the hospital cafeteria, he mused to himself as the train ran past another station.

The argument kept playing back through his mind over and over again.  As he walked into the hospital, while he tore off chunks of bagel and stuffed them in his mouth, when he was washing up for the surgery.  He supposed he had been a bit harsh on Sherlock.  But really, what kind of a person keeps severed fingers alongside eggs?  John resolved to wrangle Sherlock into getting another fridge.  This habit had to be put to a stop.

As soon as he walked into the operating room, however, John pushed any thoughts of the row out of his mind.  There was no room for distraction in the OR and this patient’s life depended on his concentration.  He greeted the nurses, then the patient was wheeled in and he got to work.

________________________________________________________________

Six hours later, Doctor John Watson was swearing at a corpse on a table.  It had gone wrong so quickly.  He had done everything right, everything perfect, but she still died.  How could humans be so terribly fragile?  Everything should have been fine, she should have woken up and gone home to her family and lived.  He tried and tried to restart the woman’s heart, but he just couldn’t do it.  He stepped back from the table, muttering one last “Damn it” under his breath and as he turned to leave the room, he heard the nurse say “Time of death 3:07, cause of death…”

The moment he set foot outside the OR, John only had one thought in his head.  Sherlock.  He wanted to get back to Sherlock, to see him, hold him, know that he could at least do this right.  He scrubbed up as quickly as he could, then after briefly informing a nurse he would be back in the morning, he walked out of the hospital.  The London air was cool on his face as he strode towards the Tube station.

 _Sherlock_ , he thought.  _I’ve got to get home to Sherlock._   The argument from that morning had slipped away completely and now he only had this need to prove to himself that he was not helpless.  He could still do something right.  He sat down on the train and tried to ignore the dark cavern eating away at his chest.  Despair boiled into rage.  How could he have let this happen?  How could he have let that woman die?  He shoved away those thoughts and focused on his goal.

_Get home to Sherlock._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much, apieformydean, for giving me this prompt! Please leave comments and suggestions. My Tumblr username is the same (teatearsandbbc) and my ask is always open for prompts, requests, or just to talk.


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